


In Daylight

by breanainn



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst, F/M, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-05
Updated: 2013-03-05
Packaged: 2017-12-04 10:25:20
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 657
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/709702
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/breanainn/pseuds/breanainn
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>'That night in the library, when you were a sprite and I was...curious. A glittering sprite in the dark. All I did was sing and you laughed a river of smooth wine.' </p>
<p>Sequel to 'Late Night Thoughts'. It appears the predicament has expanded. Poor, poor, Blaise. Romance and confusion. One-shot.</p>
            </blockquote>





	In Daylight

He tried to pour it all out quickly, so it wouldn't hurt as much. The idea was that it would work like a needle -- the faster you pierced your warm flesh with the sterile metal and drew the blood...the less it would hurt.

But it wouldn't all flow.

Like the last of the honey in the jar, it clung. It clung to the back of his throat. It was uncomfortable as all hell. But once he started, he couldn't stop.

'I wouldn't have minded if you said something. In fact, it would have put me out of some fairly heavy misery. Wondering, you know, is painful when it's for the right cause. And this cause is worth it. Potentially. It all depends on the end result of all this angst. The point is, though, that you didn't. Say something, I mean. You said nothing at all. Even the glances in corridors were jilted and stuttering. Never mind conversation; never mention it, actually...because we never had any. At least, not after that. No. At least not then. Later, yes. Because I'm standing here now talking to you. Talking at you maybe...'

Ever noticed how the rain sounds like tiny marching feet?

He took at deep breath, and since she was still staring up, he spoke again.

'I mean, I was curious. Curiosity got the better of me and now I'm here. Stuck. Stuck thinking and writing imaginary letters that would never be sent. Or ever thought of, in the presence of parchment and quill. Because I sat and I talked to you. That night in the library, when you were a sprite and I was...curious. A glittering sprite in the dark. All I did was sing and you laughed a river of smooth wine.'

Ever noticed how sultry I could be in the light?

He'd started and couldn't stop.

Oh, someone curse him, please.

'I'm rambling. I do that a lot. An awful lot, when I think of you. One thought leads to another, and before you know it. It makes a type of sense. A theoretical one. It's the practicality I'm still getting my hands on. Not that any hands are involved. I mean, I couldn't, because you keep walking past without stopping and I can't seem to shout, 'Stop!' And that's not the sort of thing you do in a hall. Walk up to other tables and make passes at people you aren't even supposed to know.'

Ever noticed how a person tries to disbelieve what's in front of them?

'Er,' she said, 'the whole universe is made of atoms, made of protons, electrons, neutrons, made of quarks. One theoretical picture put together of strangely shaped practical pieces. And this -- this situation is like that. You've done better than me. I would never have written it down. Where would I? Not even in my mind. There's nowhere safe to leave anything. I mean, what if you found it? Then I'd actually have to do something about it. Look at me, beating my own actions up inside my own head. That's what you do. To me, I mean.'

Does it? I mean, how? Should it matter?

Maybe, if you think so. It could.

She was smiling and it worried him. The last comment hadn't been entirely encouraging. Even more disconcerting, she kept talking...

'It's like all of that in reverse. One small thought leads to another, and then you know. Well. Then you know it all tumbles down like a house of cards. Like the flight of the bumblebee. It doesn't quite make sense, but it's there. You understand? Not that you are an insect or anything. Though, I guess you do tend to sting. But after a while, you stop stinging and merely hum. It's nice, actually. The humming. I wouldn't mind if you hummed more often.'

Ever noticed? Yes, uh, I did.

'God,' he said. 'We're no good at this in daylight.'


End file.
